“Mirinda, we see you really like Makong’onda”
“Oh really? Why is that?”
“Because you have gotten so FAT!”
It wasn’t until I learned 5 new ways of how to say “Hey Mirinda, you’re fat”, that I decided that a little exercise may be needed to spice up my life. This isn’t to say that I have blimped out, on the contrary, I haven’t gained that much weight or changed a size since I came back from my mid service checkup, where I had been shown to have gained a little weight (thank YOU America!), but not enough to reap the judgment that I have been getting in my little vill. To be sure, telling someone they are fat is a huge complement in Tanzania, often used when you are wearing a new dress or just re-meeting a past acquaintance. However, to be told by the village nurse, in front of every mama at the dispensary, that you need to start exercising and eating less at meals because you are SO FAT, goes beyond the complement stage and suggests that maybe I should do something so that people will stop telling me I’m fat.
Luckily, we have the trip to Kilimanjaro coming up in a little less than a month, meaning that we all needing to get into shape anyway. This gave me the opportunity to coerce all 11 of my students to run, sweat, and curse at the concept of exercise together with me. At first, they were all incredibly excited by the concept, we run, we laugh, we get fit. After a week, reality set in for me….”why did I eat so much in America, running is not fun, owwwwwwwwwwww I’m in pain….etc”, however the kids didn’t have any complaints at all. In fact, when I told them the first day we were only running 20 minutes they laughed and started to sprint away, until I warned them they would all be sore in the morning (HAHAHAHA, I won that battle, they could barely walk the next morning) and that we really needed to walk back to stretch.
My favorite running experience was the first 30 minute run with two of my favorite students, Jaffery and Andrew. We left right at the beginning of a graduation ceremony, so there were a lot of people in the street, and a lot of small children, none of whom had ever seen the white girl run before. Before we were out of the village limits, we had an army of barefooted, torn-shirted, shrieking children following us. At first it wasn’t that bad, there were giggles, the flap-flap of flip-flops slapping down on the dirt road, we just figured they would eventually turn around.
Wrong.
“Jaffery, tell the children to stop following you.”
“Ha, Madame they are not to be following me, just, they following you”
“No they aren’t, they’re in awe of your biceps…ask them yourself”
“Children, who are you following?”
“WE ARE FOLLOWING MIRINDA! MIRINDA IS RUNNING AND WE ARE FOLLOWING HER!”
“See I was tolding you”
“Ba!”
The next trick up our sleeve was to pick up the pace, but the boys soon realized that they would sooner lose me than lose all of the children, and they were kind enough not to let me face the screaming horde alone. There were some bright spots to having the children along. Typically the boys would veer off of the road and into the cashew fields to grab cashew fruit themselves, but now they had a small army of slaves within whom they had seniority. Children scatted to find the best fruits for Jaffery while others ran loyally at my side. We also never had to worry about a bike sneaking up on us…
“MIRINDA! BICIKELI!”
“BICIKELI! BICIKELI! MIRINDA, SEE THE BICIKELI!”
The only thing we truly worried about was one of our little soldiers taking a bicycle in the back for me, as they seemed well able to scream when one was coming, but not so adept at getting out of the way when one wizzed by. After saving the third tiny collarbone that couldn’t make it out of the way fast enough, Andrew turned around and told the children that he was just going to let them get run over…we saw it as a tough love approach. Luckily for the kids, we turned around at Mnaviera (the next village, a little under 5 K away) and began walking home, thus giving them more opportunities to search for fruit in the fields that lined the road, and stare at the huge sores that had welted up all over their feet as the result of running the entire way to Mnaviera bare-footed. The boys finally ditched me about 1K away from Makong’onda, slowly jogging so that villagers would think they had been jogging the entire time (posers). At this point I didn’t mind the abandonment, the children and I walked back hand in hand, sucking on the fruits they had brought from the bush and singing silly songs the whole way home.
“Oh really? Why is that?”
“Because you have gotten so FAT!”
It wasn’t until I learned 5 new ways of how to say “Hey Mirinda, you’re fat”, that I decided that a little exercise may be needed to spice up my life. This isn’t to say that I have blimped out, on the contrary, I haven’t gained that much weight or changed a size since I came back from my mid service checkup, where I had been shown to have gained a little weight (thank YOU America!), but not enough to reap the judgment that I have been getting in my little vill. To be sure, telling someone they are fat is a huge complement in Tanzania, often used when you are wearing a new dress or just re-meeting a past acquaintance. However, to be told by the village nurse, in front of every mama at the dispensary, that you need to start exercising and eating less at meals because you are SO FAT, goes beyond the complement stage and suggests that maybe I should do something so that people will stop telling me I’m fat.
Luckily, we have the trip to Kilimanjaro coming up in a little less than a month, meaning that we all needing to get into shape anyway. This gave me the opportunity to coerce all 11 of my students to run, sweat, and curse at the concept of exercise together with me. At first, they were all incredibly excited by the concept, we run, we laugh, we get fit. After a week, reality set in for me….”why did I eat so much in America, running is not fun, owwwwwwwwwwww I’m in pain….etc”, however the kids didn’t have any complaints at all. In fact, when I told them the first day we were only running 20 minutes they laughed and started to sprint away, until I warned them they would all be sore in the morning (HAHAHAHA, I won that battle, they could barely walk the next morning) and that we really needed to walk back to stretch.
My favorite running experience was the first 30 minute run with two of my favorite students, Jaffery and Andrew. We left right at the beginning of a graduation ceremony, so there were a lot of people in the street, and a lot of small children, none of whom had ever seen the white girl run before. Before we were out of the village limits, we had an army of barefooted, torn-shirted, shrieking children following us. At first it wasn’t that bad, there were giggles, the flap-flap of flip-flops slapping down on the dirt road, we just figured they would eventually turn around.
Wrong.
“Jaffery, tell the children to stop following you.”
“Ha, Madame they are not to be following me, just, they following you”
“No they aren’t, they’re in awe of your biceps…ask them yourself”
“Children, who are you following?”
“WE ARE FOLLOWING MIRINDA! MIRINDA IS RUNNING AND WE ARE FOLLOWING HER!”
“See I was tolding you”
“Ba!”
The next trick up our sleeve was to pick up the pace, but the boys soon realized that they would sooner lose me than lose all of the children, and they were kind enough not to let me face the screaming horde alone. There were some bright spots to having the children along. Typically the boys would veer off of the road and into the cashew fields to grab cashew fruit themselves, but now they had a small army of slaves within whom they had seniority. Children scatted to find the best fruits for Jaffery while others ran loyally at my side. We also never had to worry about a bike sneaking up on us…
“MIRINDA! BICIKELI!”
“BICIKELI! BICIKELI! MIRINDA, SEE THE BICIKELI!”
The only thing we truly worried about was one of our little soldiers taking a bicycle in the back for me, as they seemed well able to scream when one was coming, but not so adept at getting out of the way when one wizzed by. After saving the third tiny collarbone that couldn’t make it out of the way fast enough, Andrew turned around and told the children that he was just going to let them get run over…we saw it as a tough love approach. Luckily for the kids, we turned around at Mnaviera (the next village, a little under 5 K away) and began walking home, thus giving them more opportunities to search for fruit in the fields that lined the road, and stare at the huge sores that had welted up all over their feet as the result of running the entire way to Mnaviera bare-footed. The boys finally ditched me about 1K away from Makong’onda, slowly jogging so that villagers would think they had been jogging the entire time (posers). At this point I didn’t mind the abandonment, the children and I walked back hand in hand, sucking on the fruits they had brought from the bush and singing silly songs the whole way home.
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